Today's Flirty Friday comes from Jennifer Bernard, one of the Naughties' favorite people! Here's a taste of Sex and the Single Fireman:
Sabina clung to Roman’s broad shoulders as a feverish sort of madness overloaded her senses. With one iron arm banded around her middle, Roman bent her backwards and kissed her with ferocious intensity, as if nothing else existed in all of San Gabriel but the two of them. Blood pounded in her ears to the rhythm of yes, yes, yes.
His shoulder muscles felt like boulders. The phrase “built like a brick shithouse” zipped through her mind. He was all rock-solid man, through and through, and the way he kissed her … ravenously, lavishly, as if every corner of her mouth had some secret to discover. She returned fire with fire, kissing him back until her lips tingled and her insides went hot and liquid.
He wrenched himself away from her, panting. “We shouldn’t do this.”
But in the next second he was on her again, cupping her face in his huge, calloused hands and consuming her mouth with devastatingly thorough greed.
This time she pulled away. “No, you’re right. We should stop. Right?”
He stared at her with burning eyes and swept his hand through his black hair, more rattled than she’d ever seen him. “I don’t know. I’ve been trying to stay away from you. You don’t know how hard it is to be around you and not toss you on the training room couch and ravish you.”
“Ravish me?” She liked the sound of that.
“Okay, fuck your brains out.”
She gulped, speechless.
He lowered his voice to a hot, secret growl. “Or back you up against the wall in the apparatus bay. Do you know how many times I’ve pictured it? If the department could read minds, I’d be out on my ass by now.”
Sabina slid her palm across his wide chest, edging her fingers under his black leather jacket. It made him look tough, all man, very Italian, and extremely sexy. “I wish I could read your mind right now.”
“Jones, you don’t have to be a mind-reader to know what I want.”
She glanced around to make sure the street was empty, then slid her hand down his firm stomach, feeling the heat of his body through his shirt, down past his belt buckle, to the hard, rigid lump beneath. When she touched him, he groaned, low and gritty.
“I give you three seconds to stop doing that. After that I can’t answer for the consequences.”
Slowly, deliberately, she traced the long shape pushing against his jeans. “One.” With her hand firmly on his erection, she found an opening in his shirt and licked his chest. “Two.” Moving the heel of her hand down his hard length, she whispered hotly into his neck. “Three.”
In a voice as thick and hot as a triple espresso, he growled, “You were warned.” He swooped her up, caveman style, opened the passenger door and tossed her into the Jeep. He scrambled to the driver’s side, using one hand to half-vault himself over the hood.